


audience of one

by greyhavensking



Series: Night at the Smithsonian [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Night at the Museum, Attempt at Humor, Bisexual Scott Lang, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Confused Scott Lang, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Established Relationship, Gay Bucky Barnes, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Scott Lang is a Good Bro, if you were expecting crack from this au then i think i delivered in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27254281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyhavensking/pseuds/greyhavensking
Summary: Bucky blames Steve.That’s the long and the short of it — none of this would have happened if Steve just listened to anyone besides the little voice in the back of his head that constantly demands he one-up his own dumbassery. But because Steve is Steve, and Bucky is the idiot whose brain liquefies whenever he’s got a hand on him, they’re here in their current predicament — with Bucky’s legs wrapped around Steve’s waist, his back flush against the wall of the service corridor, Steve’s mouth latched onto the side of his neck… and the night guard gaping at them from the door Steve apparently left propped open.(or, Scott Finds Out)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Night at the Smithsonian [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976845
Comments: 21
Kudos: 63





	audience of one

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh I don't know how I feel about this one; I originally wanted to take it in a different direction, but when I started writing... this is how it turned out. Feel free to let me know if there's something about it you don't like, or if Scott seems OOC. I rarely ever write him, which is odd considering how much I love the dude. Anyway. 
> 
> I'm considering doing a Scott POV of this part... at least the very beginning, because like. While I think Bucky's POV was good for this addition, I feel like Scott's internal monologue would be a goldmine. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this at least a little?

Bucky blames Steve.

That’s the long and the short of it — none of this would have happened if Steve just  _ listened  _ to anyone besides the little voice in the back of his head that constantly demands he one-up his own dumbassery. But because Steve is  _ Steve _ , and Bucky is the idiot whose brain liquefies whenever he’s got a hand on him, they’re here in their current predicament — with Bucky’s legs wrapped around Steve’s waist, his back flush against the wall of the service corridor, Steve’s mouth latched onto the side of his neck… and the night guard gaping at them from the door Steve apparently left propped open.

The light the guy’s got trained on them is murder on Bucky’s eyes. He squints, then closes his eyes altogether and tips his head back into the wall with a low groan, which is Steve’s signal to let out a half-wounded noise of regret and loosen his hold on Bucky, letting him slip down until he’s standing on his own two feet. He keeps his eyes closed a moment longer (enough to prompt Steve to cup his cheek, thumb tracing gently over his cheekbone) before he resigns himself to his fate and gives the night guard the entirety of his attention.

They’ve seen him plenty of times before, though generally only in flashes when he passes through the spotlight that frames the Commandos’ platform. He’s fairly nondescript in his gray uniform: average features, average height, average build. Big brown eyes, though, which just emphasize the unparalleled shock he’s experiencing in this moment.

“ _ Cap _ ?” he squeaks out, then immediately follows that up with, “Oh my god, Maggie was right.  _ You were roommates _ .”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Steve asks, baffled, while Bucky heaves his usual put-upon sigh and claps Steve on the shoulder.

“Not the issue right now, hot shot.” 

Steve’s eyes flicker to him, his expression endearingly sheepish as it registers just what kind of shit-pile they’ve flung themselves into. He dips his head in a slight nod, drawing his shoulders back to their full, impressive breadth as he angles himself to face the night guard, simultaneously putting himself between the guard and Bucky. Sweet, if completely unnecessary. Bucky moves to stand beside Steve, because if nothing else he figures presenting something of a united front will be to their advantage. The guard’s eyes go impossibly wider at the sight of them together, so it’s doing  _ something _ , at least.

“You can’t…” The guard struggles visibly, his eyes darting between the two of them, fingers flexing around the handle of his flashlight like he’s contemplating its merits as a makeshift projectile. Bucky really hopes he doesn’t throw it — not because he’s worried about the damage it could do, but because everyone here is wound tighter than a drum and one wrong move might provoke an… unfortunate reaction. “The exhibit’s open in a few days, guys, you couldn’t… uh, you know, wait?”

_ Huh _ .

He must think they’re  _ actually  _ Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes — and why wouldn’t he? Two centenarians breaking into the Smithsonian in the dead of night seems more plausible than their wax figure counterparts coming to life as soon as the sun goes down. They could use this, Bucky thinks; convince the guard that what he thinks is the truth and play off the obvious hero worship he’s got going on for Steve to get a little breathing room, plan out the next step they can take. 

Except, well. They’d still be in hiding.

He and Steve exchange a look, and Steve’s face says it all — head cocked, brows raised: they won’t get a better chance than this to lay their cards on the table.

Shifting his weight to one side, Bucky rests his hands on his belt, grounding himself in the moment, before he nods to himself (and to Steve, a little) and says, “We’re not Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.”

The guard squints at them. “Uh,” he says.

“Or, we  _ are _ ,” Steve adds, not-so-helpfully, “but not the Steve and Bucky you’re thinking of.”

“Are you… cosplayers?” the guard asks, which is a nonsense word if they’ve ever heard one. 

Privately, Bucky thinks the guy should probably be less concerned with their identities than the fact that they seemingly broke into the museum, but he also knows what a shock it is to meet someone you never, ever expected to see, in a place that feels so incongruous with their very existence. Steve did a fucking number on him when he dropped into that Hydra base looking like a Greek god, although, granted, Bucky  _ had  _ always thought Steve had classically handsome features, even if no one ever seemed to agree with him. Regardless, Bucky more than understands the mindfuck the guard’s going through right now, which means he’s sympathetic — but not quite enough to give him an easy out.

“Pal,” he says, mouth curling into a humorless smile when the guard’s attention inevitably snaps to him, “we’re made of wax.”

That startles a laugh out of the guard, and even Steve jabs an elbow into his side for the snide remark, but Bucky just shrugs, unrepentant. The truth might as well come out now that they’ve been caught, and he dares Steve to try and come up with a smoother segue into the fact that they’re not technically alive. Bucky’s stating facts, is all; he wants to cut to the chase despite being acutely aware that simple explanations could never suffice for this fucking weird as hell situation.

Doesn’t hurt to try, anyway.

When neither he or Steve join in laughing, the guard pales, stumbling back a step. His grip on the flashlight must falter, because it clatters to the ground, rolling until it comes to a stop at Steve’s feet. As Steve ducks down to grab it, Bucky takes advantage of the silence to edge closer to the wall and feel for the light switch he knows is close by. He finds it just as Steve is straightening up with a truly goofy smile, pleased at his helpfulness, and together they turn back to the guard, who — hasn’t moved. Possibly isn’t breathing, actually, which could pose something of a problem. Bucky hopes they won’t have to call for an ambulance, he’s not sure how they’d go about explaining  _ that _ .

“Pal?” Bucky tries, shooting a slightly-panicked look at Steve. Steve looks like he’s gearing up to go full Captain America on the guy in the next few seconds, so Bucky makes the executive decision to preempt that by crossing the divide between him and the guard, hesitating a moment before he gently takes hold of the man’s arm. The guard jumps at the contact but meets Bucky’s questioning gaze, wide-eyed and dazed but seemingly coherent. “I’d be real grateful if you don’t faint on us.”

“I—” The guard cuts himself off, blinking rapidly as though he’s coming out some kinda trance. He shakes his head, then his eyes snag on something at Bucky’s shoulder. Furrowing his brow, Bucky follows his gaze — and it’s the recently mended sleeve, the one that put him out of commission last week. Bucky looks back up at the guard to find him staring right back at him. “Aw, f—  _ fudge _ . Either you’re really Bucky Barnes and you snuck in here to steal your jacket, which —  _ why _ ? You’d be Bucky Barnes! You could totally just ask for it back, no one could say no to Cap’s baby blues. Or... you’re  _ really  _ the Bucky Barnes mannequin. I’m not sure what’s weirder.”

A faint smile curls Bucky’s lips as he squeezes the guy’s arm and steps back a little to give him space. “Trust me, it’s weird for us, too.”

Steve joins them, offering the flashlight to the guard hilt-first, smiling all friendly-like, which is something the asshole had to  _ learn  _ for his Captain America schtick and Bucky will always laugh at the reminder. “Steve Rogers. Gotta say I’m sorry about the circumstances, but it’s nice to finally meet you.”

The guard blinks again, hesitantly reclaiming his flashlight and looking at Steve like he’s just been handed a loaded gun. Or a particularly adorable puppy he’s afraid of scaring off. “Um, god, I’m Scott. Scott Lang! And wow, you’re Captain America, or not like,  _ Captain America _ , but you’re him! Steve Rogers! Holy shit! I had so many action figures of you when I was kid, I read all the comics, and you!” He rounds on Bucky with equal amounts of reverence, which frankly Bucky could do without. “Bucky Barnes!  _ Holy shit _ ! I’m pretty sure you were my bisexual awakening when I was teenager — and I should definitely not have said to your face,  _ oh my god what’s wrong with me _ .”

There’s a moment of silence. Every drop of blood in Scott’s body seems to rush into his face, judging by the lurid red he’s sporting in the aftermath of that. Steve’s just as red, too, for no other reason than he’s never learned how to handle a compliment from anyone other than Bucky. And Bucky’s — confused.

“Bisexual?” he echoes.

Scott somehow  _ goes redder _ , but his mouth dutifully opens: “Oh, shit, that’s — I guess that wasn’t a term when you guys were growing up?” His eyes dart between them again. “It just uh, it means, well, it means you like both? Or all. All genders. That’s uh, more accurate?”

Bucky nods slowly, chewing on his lower lip as he thinks it over. “Huh. Fancy new future word to add to the vocabulary. And hey, that’s you, Stevie!” He slaps Steve playfully across the chest with the back of his hand, grinning, which has the desired effect of flustering Steve and getting him to shove Bucky’s shoulder in return.

“Buck, you’re gonna give Scott a heart attack, cut him some slack.”

“I’m not doing nothin’! Hell, I’m flattered. Never had another fella ‘sides you tell me I did anything for them.”

“That’s a bald-faced lie, Barnes.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Pretty sure you got more attention in the thirties than I did.”

“We’re not talking about me!”

“Technically, we’re not talking about either of us, yeah?” Bucky says, mostly to Scott. He tips his head slightly, considering. “That wasn’t us, not really.  _ We  _ woke up here in the museum a coupla months back.”

Scott nearly drops his flashlight again. “ _ Months _ ? You mean, basically the whole time I’ve been here? And I’m only now just seeing you guys, uh, moving around?”

“We weren’t sure how you’d take it, pal. Museum exhibits that come to life? That’s kinda outside anyone’s pay grade.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s… probably SHIELD-level stuff.”

Bucky very deliberately does not even glance at Steve, who he knows must look like he’s just gotten gut-punched. They’re aware of SHIELD, but only through the exhibits on Peggy Carter and the SSR. Steve isn’t even cagey about Carter, either — he’s just baffled on how much influence he had over an organization he never got to see for himself. Scott doesn’t catch the misstep, though, so Bucky ignores it as the guy goes on about all the strange shit SHIELD’s had to clean up in the past few years, and then barrells right into some rapid-fire questions about  _ how  _ they’re even semi-alive. 

Bucky and Steve can’t answer most of them, not accurately. They’ve got ideas (the Cosmic Cube is still Bucky’s best bet on why they come to life every night, though he can’t fathom the  _ why  _ of it all), but nothing concrete, and they tell Scott as much. He takes it all in with surprising grace, given how this night started. He’s pretty damn cheerful, even, promising he won’t say a word about this outside of the museum before they’ve even asked, practically tripping over himself to get his point across. He’s fervent in the kind of way that says he’s been on the other side of a secret-gone-wrong, and it’s enough that Steve and Bucky agree to take him at his word.

It’s at that point that Scott asks, “Is it just you guys?”

“Is what just us?”

“The whole” — Scott gestures vaguely with both hands, at them but also at their surroundings in general — “undead mannequin thing. Is it only you two that start moving around after dark?”

Which is how Steve gets the  _ fantastic  _ idea to introduce Scott to the Howlies. And Neil. And  _ Cosmo _ . 

Bucky’s content to watch from the sidelines while the others crowd around Scott, who’s sprawled across the ground with a spacesuit-wearing golden retriever sitting on his chest and lapping at every inch of his face, only half-heartedly struggling to get away. He doesn’t think they’ll end up regretting this decision — Scott’s good people, and the truth was bound to come out at some point. 

But fucking  _ hell _ is he going to make sure Steve learns his goddamn lesson this time. 


End file.
